2. Reese
CHAPTER 2
REESE
“Are we seriously doing shots?” I ask once I’ve found my spot next to Blakely and Monroe at the bar. Pax and Lawson have waters in front of them, but there are three shots of clear liquid lined up for us.
“It’s a new year!” Monroe says, scooping up her shot as we do the same. “We’re allowed to let loose.”
My cheeks flush as I clink my shot glass against my two best friends’ glasses, then throw back the contents. The alcohol burns all the way down, adding another wave of heat to my already sensitive skin.
Nash freaking Stokehill kissed me.
I want to shout the words at my friends, but it’s a little hard to when the man himself saunters up to the bar to join our little group, like he has nowhere more important to be.
A warm shiver runs the length of my body just from his approach, let alone the way I can still feel the effects of his kiss.
God, he knew how to kiss.
My lips are still tingling.
His hands had been delightfully handsy on my body, never once shying away from my curves. He held me suspended in time and space for those few blissful moments as all my fantasies came true and then some.
I’m not ashamed to say I’d thought about what it would be like to kiss Nash Stokehill more than once, but I’m not the only one. He’s a freaking rockstar in the NHL world with a bad boy vibe that he backs up with nothing but pure, sexual confidence. Add to it he’s gorgeous, with blond hair and crystal blue eyes I want to get lost in, and one might say he’s the perfect male specimen.
Almost.
Because the man drives me absolutely crazy. I used to have a fangirl level crush on him in my third year in college, but that was before I knew he liked to run through women like he did designer shirts. There isn’t anything wrong with that, of course, I’m just not built for that lifestyle. I like my men one at a time and exclusive, and even now, simply standing next to him at the bar is earning me death glares from the women who follow him around.
I could never get used to that, let alone handle it emotionally. Not that he’s asking me to.
It was just a kiss.
A ridiculously hot New Year’s Eve kiss.
“Another!” Monroe playfully smacks the top of the bar with her empty shot glass, wiping some of the stray liquor off her lips.
Pax watches her with an affable grin, and she shrugs.
“What?” she asks with a laugh as the bartender fills up our empties again. “You said you were driving.”
“I am,” Pax says, holding up his water.
“I’ll take a water too,” Nash says, leaning over the bar so close to me I feel his chest brush along my shoulder.
Damn him, it’s a nice, muscled chest too.
Ugh, if he didn’t find pleasure in arguing with me every other time we speak, I might forget I have rules and ask him to indulge me in one of his infamous one-night stands.
Whoa, no way. That must be the alcohol talking.
I cheers my friends again and throw back another shot, hissing at the afterburn.
My muscles loosen another fraction, even the voice in my mind going a bit giggly. But Monroe is right, we deserve to have a little fun.
“Will you take me home too, Pax?” I ask, giving him my best pretty please look. He waves me off immediately.
“You know I will, Reese,” Pax says at the same time Nash says, “I can take you home.”
I step back a little from the bar so I can face him, our tight-knit group forming a makeshift huddle at the bar. “Aren’t you drinking, Stokehill?”
Nash waves his water at me. “Nope,” he says. “But you can drink up. I’ll take care of you tonight.”
Shock radiates throughout my body alongside a heaping dose of lust as his kiss flashes to the forefront of my mind.
I don’t hate the sensation.
I glance at Blakely and Monroe, who both give me suggestive looks that send all three of us into a fit of giggles.
“Oh, this is going to be such a fun night,” Lawson says, practically beaming at Blakely.
“Yes!” I say with likely too much enthusiasm. “Oh, wait,” I continue, rifling through my clutch. “We must document.” I swipe open my phone, starting a video. “Look like you’re having more fun than any NHL team in history,” I say, panning the camera around.
My friends immediately answer the call of action, laughing and cheering. Monroe starts spitting out stats for Pax, explaining to the camera why he’s the best defensemen on the Badgers, and Blakely matches her passion with equal reasoning for Lawson being the best playmaker.
I do my best not to laugh or agree too loudly behind the camera, but assure myself I can edit out unwanted noises later.
“What about right wings?” I ask, flipping the camera around to myself to join in on the fun. “Stokehill here already has eight goals for the season,” I say, moving the camera to get him in the shot. The sight of him standing behind me, looking way too mischievous with that smirk of his, almost makes me stumble over my words. “And he has a career goal number of twenty-eight.”
Nash’s blue eyes snap away from the camera, looking at me with surprise.
I swallow hard, forcing a laugh. “For those who were curious,” I add, hoping to cover the momentary slip in my fangirl status.
“Moving on,” I say, heading through the bar, hunting down other Badgers and getting a lot of awesome content. I ask them a few typical social media questions—what song is on repeat, what snack is getting them through the holidays—and I’m pretty impressed I can remember to do my job while also technically not working.
“Get some good content, Reese’s Pieces?” Nash asks me once I’ve found my way back to the bar, where I’m met with another round of shots from my girls.
I take the shot quickly, feeling a little wobbly on my feet but also just too happy to really care. I haven’t let this loose in months, and since my job hasn’t exactly been the dream I thought it would be, it feels good to escape.
Not that I don’t love my job, I do. I just thought after getting a degree in marketing I would’ve had one video go viral by now or at least secured some more interest in the Badgers for endorsements and sponsored posts than I have.
“I did,” I answer Nash, using the bravado in my voice to try and make my mind feel like it’s the truth. “Who knows,” I continue. “Maybe something caught here tonight will be the video that puts the Badgers in the limelight.”
“We’re getting there,” Nash says. “I like your series on post-workout recovery.”
My eyes flare wide as I glance up at him. “You watch the page?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes.”
I laugh. “Checking to see how often I post your pretty face?”
His grin is downright wolfish as he leans down. “Ah, so you admit you think I’m pretty.”
I roll my eyes, waving him off as I scan the area around us. Everyone is having a great time, and The Queen’s Rum is packed. I’m glad they’re getting the business they deserve. I bob my head to the music, filtering in and out of Monroe and Blakely’s conversations as the night winds on.
“Oh!” I say, my attention snagging on a showdown of all showdowns happening across the bar at the tables. “Get that!” I ask, practically shoving my phone in Monroe’s hand because she has the better angle.
She scrunches her brow. “Get what?”
“Kiplin and Torrington are arm wrestling!”
Monroe spins around in the small space between the bar and Pax, and points the camera their way. It’s quite a spectacle, watching the team’s captain and one of the thickest-built Badgers face off in such a way. Both of their faces are pinched with the exertion, but it doesn’t look like either of them will budge one way or another. They’re entirely too stubborn. It’s entertaining as hell.
“Excuse you,” a feminine voice says at the same time someone pushes me.
I’m so taken off guard I stumble slightly, but Lawson steadies me.
“Whoa,” I say. “Thanks,” I say to Lawson before turning around to see who’s in such a rush for the bartender?—
“Come on, Nash,” the woman says. “My friend said you had a thing for blondes. Don’t you want to make sure I get home safe?”
Nash shakes his head, moving around the woman to get to me, his hand on my elbow. “You all right?” he asks, leaning down to ask the question in my ear.
My heart flutters in my chest at the sweet way he asks, at the concern in his eyes, the way he smells like violets and leather, all of it.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Hello,” the woman says loud enough to garner both our attention even though she only has eyes for Nash. “I was talking to him. Rude .”
My lips part. “Are you serious?” I ask, a little sass sneaking into my tone as I step in front of Nash. “No one asked you to shove me out of the way.”
“You were in front of something interesting,” she says, winking at Nash, but it’s more of an awkward blink because of how drunk she is.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, no. You did not just refer to him as something. ”
She scoffs at me. “You’re the last person on the planet who needs to be worried about Nash Stokehill.” She looks me up and down, a sneer on her face.
Self-consciousness curls inside me, making my stomach drop for two seconds before it’s immediately replaced with anger. Fuck this, I haven’t been bullied since high school.
“You can go fu?—”
“Okay,” Nash cuts over my words, stepping into my space. He bends slightly, and before I know what’s happening, I’m tossed over a very strong shoulder. “Time to get my girl home,” he continues, and the way he says my girl makes every ounce of independent woman immediately vacate my body.
Nash spins around, and I’m laughing because I can’t help it. He’s thrown me over his shoulder like I’m his gear bag.
“Phone!” Monroe hustles behind us, handing me my phone before winking at me. “Love you. Call me in the morning!”
“Love you!” I call out through my giggles, and I don’t stop laughing until Nash settles me into his very nice smelling SUV. The seats feel like warm, buttery leather against my skin.
“Address, Reese’s Pieces,” he says as he gets behind the wheel, and I tell him while slipping my phone back in my purse.
“I can’t believe you,” I say as he navigates the roads back to my apartment. I do my best to focus on him and not the things whooshing by the window. The alcohol is marginally wearing off, but I’m still a little dizzy.
“I get it,” he says. “I’m basically superhuman.”
I snort laugh, shaking my head that leans heavy against the seat. “No,” I say. “You just…tossed me over your shoulder. Like it was nothing.”
“It was nothing,” he says, pulling into my apartment complex. “Besides, you looked like you were ready to go.”
“I was,” I say, sort of mystified that he’d picked up on that. “That woman was mean.”
“She was,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt before walking around the car and opening my door for me. “Fuck her.”
“Yeah. She shouldn’t have referred to you as something. Like you’re nothing more than a piece of meat,” I say, my tongue slightly heavy. “She can eat a dick.”
A laugh bursts out of him, and it’s one of my new favorite sounds.
“Not your dick,” I say as he helps me out of the car.
“Of course not,” he says, laughter clinging to his tone.
It takes me twice as long as normal to climb the steps to my apartment, but I’ll be damned if I let him carry me again. I am independent…sometimes.
“I’m okay,” I say as I finally get my door unlocked and walk inside, immediately discarding my pumps in two different directions.
“I can see that,” he says from where he’s heading into my kitchen like he owns the place. “Ah,” he says after he finds something in the fridge.
“What are you doing?” I call from my bedroom, slumping to sit on the edge of my bed.
Nash comes down my hallway, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a Gatorade in the other. “Drink these,” he says.
“At the same time?” I scrunch up my brow. “That’ll be difficult.”
He shakes his head, that smile brightening up every inch of space in my bedroom. “One at a time, Reese’s Pieces,” he says, handing them to me.
“Thank you for driving me home,” I say after flicking off both caps of the bottles and alternating drinks. “I don’t normally drink that much.”
“You deserve to have fun,” he says. “I’m happy to make sure you’re safe.”
I swallow the Gatorade a little too hard, and my vision is a little blurry as I look over the perfect features on his face. He’s all smooth skin with a chiseled jaw line and ugh , does he have to look so damn good ?
“You going to be all right?” he asks.
“Yes,” I assure him. “You don’t have to stay.”
His eyebrows raise. “Are you asking me to?”
I laugh. “No, I just thought that’s what you were doing.”
“Do you want me to?” he asks, shifting his weight in front of me.
“I…” I don’t know how to answer that. The hesitance must show on my face because he gives me a sweet smile and nods.
“Not tonight,” he says. “You need to get some rest, anyway.”
“I do.”
“Happy New Year, Reese’s Pieces,” he says, leaning down and planting a kiss on my forehead before heading back down my hallway and out my front door.
I finish all the water and Gatorade before I get up to lock the door, totally chiding myself for my lack of courage. That was my shot at some no-strings fun with Nash Stokehill and I blew it. But, to be fair, I didn’t want to spend the night with him when I likely wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.
The room is spinning too much to lay down, so I pull out my phone and rifle through tonight’s footage. I actually scored some great content, and Nash looks way too heroic hauling me out of The Queen’s Rum not to post. I mean, all our followers will think he’s a knight in shining armor, and it’s the least I can do for him after he took such good care of me.
I make a few edits and pair it with a fun background sound and hit post, the action helping relax my body enough to sleep.
I hate everything.
Alcohol is the absolute worst.
It's the only thing I can think as I force myself to roll out of bed despite every single one of my muscles feeling like they were run through the garbage disposal.
My head is pounding, and my stomach feels wobbly as I hurry to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.
I take a little extra time going through my normal morning routine, hating that my alarm woke me for a very real work day. I do my best to cover the circles under my eyes, little moments of the night before flashing to the forefront of my mind.
Having way too much fun with my girlfriends.
Nash's lips on mine, his hands on my hips.
Him carrying me out of the bar, bringing my drunk ass home, and ensuring I drank Gatorade before bed.
The last memory makes me laugh, and I shake my head, doing my best not to be swallowed by a well of mortification. At least I didn’t beg him to stay, and with the state I was in, I’m kind of surprised I didn't.
I'm just finishing getting dressed when the memory of posting a video comes crashing back to me like an anvil dropping on my head.
Fuck.
I race back to my bedroom, diving on my bed for my phone and unlocking my screen, clicking on the Badgers social account that I happen to run.
“Ohmigod,” I say aloud as I notice my notifications are maxed out. “Oh, Jesus, what did I do?”
Panic streaks through me as I rush to the latest posted video, my hungover-addled brain barely providing enough information for me to remember properly. I click the video, my heart in my throat.
It's me.
Holy shit, it's not just me, but also Nash throwing me over his shoulder and calling me his girl as he looks charming as hell carrying me out.
I blow out a breath, relief washing through me that I hadn't posted something more embarrassing, or something that would be detrimental to the team’s reputation.
And then I go to the comments.
There are thousands of comments.
My brain throbs as I skim through most of them, shock rattling through me at the interest in the once notorious bachelor of the Bangor Badgers having called someone— me —his girl.
Viewers are eating it up, most of the comments asking who I am as much as they’re rooting for me.
Of course there are always the negative comments, but I scroll right past those and focus on the theme of the video. The interaction is off the charts, not to mention the views—well over six million in just a few hours.
I close out of the app, sitting on my bed and staring at my locked screen in shock. It's been my dream since being hired by the Bangor Badgers to have a video go viral, to create a fun interactive account that gives a behind-the-scenes look at our NHL players in the hopes that the team will get the recognition they deserve…
But this?
I never intended to put myself in the spotlight, let alone have a video I posted after a wild night go viral.
But the followers loved it. We’d gained fifty thousand overnight. And if statistics told me anything, those new followers were there for one thing and one thing only, and that was their newly piqued interest in Nash Stokehill’s romantic life.
I know better than anyone that the more followers and the more views you have, the more power you have to make endorsement deals for individual players. That’s been a huge goal of mine since being hired. The more followers and views we gain, the more leverage I’ll have with getting our players the deals and recognition they deserve.
If I want to keep this new audience, then I’ll have to keep feeding them the content they want.
And it looks like that content is me and Nash.
Shit, shit, shit.
I scoop up my phone again and click into the group chat with my girls.
Me: I'm so fucked.
I send off the text, shaking my head and hurrying to finish getting ready for the day.
Monroe: You're not fucked.
Blakely: Did you get fucked?
Blakely’s text comes through seconds after Monroe’s, and it makes me laugh out loud.
Me: No I didn't
Me: And yes I am. Don't act like you both haven't seen the video.
Blakely: I thought it was an awesome edit.
Monroe: I loved it. Of course, your camera woman totally did you a favor, capturing the money shot and all. ;)
I laugh again, my anxiety easing a little with my best friend’s playfulness.
Blakely: What are you going to do?
Monroe: Yeah because from the comments it looks like they’re calling for more Reese and Nash edits.
I groan out loud, knowing they’re right but also knowing there isn't a thing I can do about it.
Me: You know that Nash can barely tolerate me.
Monroe: It looked like he was more than tolerating you last night.
Blakely: Yeah you guys may have this whole enemies thing going on, but honestly it's more cute than anything else. What happened after he got you home last night?
Me: Nothing. He walked me inside and made me drink Gatorade.
Monroe: Aww. Got to give the guy points for that one.
I did , I think to myself.
I absolutely did give him points for not only bringing me home safely, but also not judging me for getting so wild in the first place. And not only that, he wanted to help ease my hangover with Gatorade and water. People always talk about the little things meaning so damn much, and just from that simple act alone, I can understand. Not that we're together.
But what if we were? Would I be okay with posting more edits of us?
If it got my players much deserved sponsorships and recognition, yeah, yeah I would.
Despite what my friends say, Nash isn't a relationship guy. There's no way he’ll actually date me.
But what if it were a business arrangement?
What if I simply told him the truth, showed him the statistics and the facts, and asked if he'd make a few more videos with me?
The idea takes shape in my mind, growing larger by the second, filling my chest with hope.
Me: I have to find Nash. Wish me luck.
Blakely: Luck.
Monroe: Luck.
I throw my phone in my bag and do my best to hold on to the courage I feel in that moment as I seek out one of the most unattainable men in the NHL.